


Standing On The Edge Without A Prayer

by torakowalski



Series: AU Prompts [8]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fic, sort of alien-invasion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/torakowalski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don’t think there are any cops left,” Clint says.  “They all turned into aliens.  Maybe you didn’t notice?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing On The Edge Without A Prayer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaneen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaneen/gifts).



> For chaneen who asked for a 'tourist/knowledgeable local' AU. Phil's not *exactly* a tourist, but it's close.

“Excuse me,” says a voice that’s way calmer than Clint would have expected. “Can you tell me where I can find the police department? I seem to have gotten turned around.”

Clint looks up and finds a middle aged dude in a suit, looking completely unruffled, while buildings and maybe people - yeah, definitely people - explode all around him.

“Yeah, I don’t think there are any cops left,” he says. “They all turned into aliens. Maybe you didn’t notice?”

Clint’s been crouched down behind a car for the last ten minutes, fingers itching for his bow, but he only came out for breakfast; he’s totally unarmed.

“I noticed,” the man says. “But technically they’re not aliens; it’s much more fascinating than that. They’re actually - ” Maybe he notices the incredulous look Clint’s giving him, maybe he just catches up with himself, because he smiles ruefully. “But you don’t care about that, right now.”

“Not really,” Clint agrees. He looks at the fall of the dude’s jacket and frowns. “Are you packing?”

“Yes,” he says simply and still doesn’t draw his damn gun. A building a block from where they’re hiding goes boom and Clint tries not to flinch, but fails. He likes this town, he was having a quiet life here, he doesn’t want to see it destroyed.

To their left, someone screams and Clint’s had enough of this, weapon or no weapon, backup or no backup, he’s going to help. He makes it two steps down the sidewalk, before Suit Guy grabs him and shoves him into the side of the nearest building.

The slab of sidewalk Clint was just standing on explodes in a flash of fire and smoke. 

“I’m Phil Coulson of SHIELD,” Suit Guy says, half curled over Clint to protect them both from debris. “I need you to trust me and show me the way to the station house.”

Clint nods. He doesn’t know why he’s shaking, if anyone had asked before, he would have said he’d be pretty chill about an alien invasion. He’s definitely seen enough weird shit in his life that he should be able to take this in stride.

“‘kay,” Clint says and nods. He can do that. He can totally do that. “This way.” 

They make their way down the sidewalk, ducking firebolts and exploding cars, until they get to the main crosswalk. 

“It’s over there,” Clint says, “but seriously, there’s no one left who can help.”

Coulson flashes him a smile. “You’d be surprised,” he says. He meets Clint’s eye, looking very sincere. “Thank you for your help, Mr - ?”

“Barton,” Clint says. Then, “Wait, you’re not planning to go in there alone? I’m coming with.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Coulson says. “Thank you, though.”

Clint grabs his sleeve before he can just like, walk all the way across the road and get himself killed many many times by probably-aliens. “Give me your gun.”

Coulson frowns, but Clint just rolls his eyes and holds out his hand.

“I’ll cover you,” Clint says. “I’m a pretty good shot.”

Coulson doesn’t hesitate nearly as long as Clint was expecting. He pulls a shiny sig out of a shoulder holster and hands it over. It’s perfectly maintained, definitely government issue. 

“Take care of yourself,” Coulson says. “Don’t take any risks.”

“Seriously?” Clint asks, feeling his eyebrows climb. “You’re the one that wants to run into a nest of aliens. Like, what’s even over there that’s so important?”

“They’re not aliens,” Coulson says again. “And if I find what I’m looking for, I’ll bring it back to show you.” He smiles, slow and way more excited than the situation calls for. “I promise you’ll be impressed.”

“Okay,” Clint agrees. For the first time, it occurs to him that Coulson might just be crazy. “Good luck.”

He lifts Coulson’s gun and waits, while Coulson zigzags across the road, a perfectly dressed blur of movement. He gets halfway before there’s any reaction, and then three of the not-alien things appear at once. They’re big, bigger than a normal person, and scary, sort of grey-green, and totally gross. 

They also shoot fire from their hands and mouths and bellies so, you know, Clint doesn’t care if they’re alien or not.

He shoots the first two quick enough that neither of them sees it coming. The third wheels around, attention diverted from Coulson to Clint, and sends a firebolt across the road. It comes so close to exploding Clint that he has to throw himself onto his side, landing on the sidewalk with a jolt.

He shoots as he falls, clipping the not-alien’s shoulder. The not-alien makes a deep, whining sound and blows up a car directly in front of Clint.

Through the haze of burning petrol, Clint can see that Coulson has disappeared. That’s good, he thinks, blood running into his eyes from a cut he can’t quite feel. That’s good. Whatever Coulson’s planning, maybe it’ll save the town.

Clint loves this town. It took him in when no one else would.

The third not-alien lumbers across the road toward him and Clint’s definitely going to get up and fight, he definitely is, but that last blast feels like it shook something loose inside him and it’s hard to tell up from down.

“Hey,” Clint chokes, fumes and smoke in his throat. “Hey, my new friend Coulson says you’re not an alien. Why are you such an asshole, then?”

It growls, opening its lips wide and revealing two, rotten-looking teeth and a lot of gross, slobbery grey gums. Clint shoots it in the mouth. 

Something liquid and hot that may or may not be brain matter explodes out of the top of its head, splattering Clint and burning his hands before he scrubs it off on the gritty ground. The not-alien topples, falling toward Clint.

He kicks it backwards, and scrambles up, looking around and hoping for a break. His body aches like it’s turned into a bruise, and he’s going to be out of bullets in a minute.

Something roars from over by the station house and Clint braces himself, ready and willing to take on more not-aliens, if he really has to. It’s not a not-alien - or, if it is, it’s a new type - it looks like a plane, but not any kind Clint’s ever seen before. It’s triangular, gunmetal grey, and sporting some very angry-looking machine guns on the front.

As Clint watches, it flickers, panelling seeming to turn in on itself, so it’s almost invisible. Clint can still make out where it is, just about, but he’s not sure he would have been able to, if he hadn’t already known it was there.

It touches down in the road, directly in front of Clint, looking like liquid silver shifting through the air.

Clint doesn’t think he’s about to get taken up the mothership, but he braces himself, anyway, fingers curling around his gun.

A hatch opens in the back and Coulson steps out, smiling at Clint. “Are you all right?” he calls over the noise of the engines. 

Clint nods, ignoring his cuts and burns and the way adrenaline is making his hands shake. “I’m good,” he says. “This what you went to get?”

“This and its pilot,” Coulson agress. “Impressed?”

Clint grins. “You said I would be. Gonna impress me some more?”

Coulson steps to the side and sweeps a hand toward the inside of the plane. “Come inside,” he says. “We’re going to search the area.”

“Can I shoot more shit?” Clint asks. He’s already walking forward; he definitely wants a ride in Coulson’s magic plane.

(That’s not just a euphemism. Well, not _just_.)

“Certainly,” Coulson says. He holds out his hand. “Thanks for the help, earlier.”

Clint blinks, hesitating, but he’s been growing some manners, tucked away in this little town and it’d be a shame to waste them. “No worries, dude,” he says, and shakes Coulson’s hand. “Gonna tell me what the non-aliens really are?”

“Eventually,” Coulson says, and smiles. “Shooting shit first?”

“Hell, yeah,” Clint agrees, and steps all the way into the plane, the hatch snapping closed behind him.


End file.
